


Habit, Habit, Curse My Bad Habits

by CookieCatSU



Series: Welcome to the Happy Habitat! (Sans the Habitat) [1]
Category: Smile For Me (Video Game)
Genre: A study on Kamal, And his relationship with Dr. Habit, Character Study, Flower Kid is a life saver, Habit needs a little help, He didn't sign up for that crazy stuff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Making Up, Moving On, Non-binary too, Recovery, Therapy, Wallus is the only character with sense, and before, and onward, follows the events of the game, you know
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-28
Updated: 2020-08-28
Packaged: 2021-03-06 19:08:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,001
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26163901
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CookieCatSU/pseuds/CookieCatSU
Summary: "He can't do this to us" Kamal hisses, "He can't do this to everyone"Wallus hums. He knows what he's talking about. He's talking about the forced curfew, and the PSAs, the fact that the Habitat becomes more and more of a prison with every passing day.Saying that doesn't help. He can do this. He can and he is and he'll keep doing it.That's the one thing Kamal and Wallus can count on.Or; Kamal falls in love, and out of love. And gets turned a little topsy turvy along the way.
Relationships: Kamal Bora/Dr. Boris Habit
Series: Welcome to the Happy Habitat! (Sans the Habitat) [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1919548
Comments: 5
Kudos: 31





	Habit, Habit, Curse My Bad Habits

Doctor's offices have always made Kamal anxious. Something about the sterile white walls and that vacant medical scent of disinfectant made Kamal's stomach squirm. Dentist offices were no exception to that rule. 

Dr. Habit’s office was no exception.

Of course, the dental uniform he donnes serves significantly to soothe that anxiety. This isn't like those times he had to go into the infirmary after breaking his arm, or to the doctor's office to get a shot for that nasty stint of pox, as a kid. He doesn't have to spend hours seated beside his mother with hands clasped in his lap, legs folded beneath him, eyes trained on the wall.

He's in control, now, and it's a freeing feeling. 

He pulls on the lapels of his white coat, running his fingers over the starchy, cloth fabric. He stops in front of the receptionist desk.

A familiar face. _Great_.

"Is the Doc in yet?"

Janet greets him with that same warm smile she had the evening before, clearly unfazed by early mornings. She nods and points toward the closed office door halfway across the room, "The Doctor's in there. He's very excited to meet you" She grins a little wider, encouraging, "He's been asking after you all morning actually, so you should really get on in there"

That sounded a bit… odd. And concerning, maybe. Was Kamal late? He'd been told to come in at 7:30 sharp, but perhaps it was one of those if you're not early, you're late, kind of things, and Dr. Habit had really wanted to see him at 7:15, or something?

"I'm sorry. Was I supposed to be here already or-"

"Oh no, no. Don't you worry, sweetheart. You're right on time. As I said before, Dr. Habit is just _very_ excited to finally be meeting you in person"

That… didn't actually seem like a good sign.

Kamal smiles awkwardly, "Well uh, okay, wish me luck"

She nods, whispers quietly, "Don't be surprised if he's a little much," and then smiles encouragingly. 

Which is really not encouraging at all, and just ties the knots in Kamal's gut even tighter.

 _Breathe, buddy_ , he tells himself, as he turns toward Dr. Habit's door, the door that'd hold his future. Gosh.

Kamal finds that the door to his boss's office is unlocked. He turns the cool metal knob with a click, and the creaky door swings open.

Dr. Habit, hunched over his computer screen, smiles wide as soon as he catches sight of Kamal in the doorway.

“You must be new dental assytant” He stands, rushing to the entrance of his office, “Welcome, welcome!" He pauses, glances around the cluttered room, at little drawings on the walls and stacks of papers on the desk, and grins apologetically, "Sorre for the mess, it was very busy day today”

He snatches a paper hanging off his bookshelves, and rushes to clean the chair in front of his desk, dumping everything on the floor.

"Have a seat?" He asks, and Kamal notices that his accent sounds vaguely Russian.

Kamal stares at the newly cleared chair… was, was that something sticky on the seat? He shudders, and turns away, resolving immediately that there was no way he was sitting on that thing. In fact, the sooner he got out of this office, the better.

“No, that's… I'm fine. I think I'll stand" Kamal says politely, hands fluttering at his side.

"Then I too shawl stand, my comrade" Dr. Habit proclaims with a smile, standing up before he can even sit.

He turns to rummage through some drawers. Kamal watches, standing awkwardly in the door still.

"Sir?" Kamal calls, waiting until he has his attention. Dr. Habit hums, and turns his head to gaze at Kamal.

"Kamal Bora” He throws his hand out to shake, with an air of professionalism he’s (hopefully) managed to perfect, “I saw your uh, ad, in the paper, and decided it’d be a good fit”

Dr. Habit looks him over once, and directs a look his way that is oddly (concerningly) satisfied.

"Excellent. You _are_ my new assistant. Lovely! My name is Dr. Boris Habit, and I am greatly looking forward to working together, Misster Bora"

He stands to his full height then, and pulls Kamal’s hand in for a shake, and his huge mitts literally engulf Kamal’s, like a little kid or something. Like, the heck? 

Kamal notices two things about his new boss, in that moment. One, is that he is huge, big enough that as he shakes his hand his whole body shakes, faintly, like aftershocks after a bad quake. Secondly, Dr. Habit is also unnaturally _tall_ , but not in that awkward, gangly way Kamal had been in 5th grade, when he'd suddenly gained a foot of height on his peers, only to be left in the dust in subsequent years. No, Dr. Habit was elegant, somehow, with the way his face tapered and his fingers curved into pointed claws. 

Or maybe Kamal just imagined that? 

He doesn’t look like a dentist. And Kamal, having gone to dental school, and having seen a lot of the dentistry type, should know.

He’s also still shaking his hand, because he clearly has no concept of the appropriate amount of time one should shake hands. (Kamal isn't 100% sure either, but a minute and a half definitely ain't it). Absolutely not.

"Okay, big guy, I think that's enough"

He grins sheepishly, and pulls away. "Of course, of course. Apologies"

He gazes down at Kamal, and Kamal swears he's almost 3 feet taller than him, and uh, he's really into it.

Like, really, really into it. He can't stop staring at him, heart pounding, palms clammy and wet (okay, yeah, he likes 'em tall, so what?).

Once Kamal gets over that initial burst of infatuation and _Oh my goodness, I can't breath,_ he feels a tiny twinge of bitterness, thick like cheap syrup in his mouth, because it's clear from the way Boris Habit carries himself that's he's been that goddamn tall for most of his adult life. Jealousy coils in Kamal's gut.

The ugly stint of envy is short lived, however, because Boris is smiling at Kamal, (albeit a bit dubiously) and he's overcome once more with white hot butterflies bursting through his stomach.

"Misster Bora? Silly head? Are you listening? I was discussing on getting you started"

Kamal shakes his head, realizing with a start that Dr. Habit's been talking this whole time. Shit.

Not a good way to start his first day, huh?

"Oh um, yes! Yes! I'm really anticipating getting started. So let's get started"

Goodness. This is not how Kamal had planned on starting his day. Or his year, for that matter.

* * *

Kamal knows something isn't right about a week into working for Dr. Habit.

His employer himself is pretty odd. More in the curious, wonder what's up with that, sort of way, as opposed to the concerning, I drink paint, sort of way, but odd nonetheless. He often requests Kamal to complete obscure tasks that couldn't possibly have anything to do with running a dental office, like grabbing swatches of felt or buying glitter glue. Sometimes the requests get real weird, and he'll tell Kamal, all breathless and agitated, to alter, or even delete, patient records.

Odd as Dr. Habit seemed before, nothing could prepare him for this.

He sees it- the rows upon rows of teeth, stuffed in the top drawer of the filing cabinet- and slams the drawer shut.

 _What?_ Maybe he hadn't seen that right…

He opens it again, still sees loose teeth jostling about, and slams it shut again. He feels a little sick.

What the hell? What… what the literal hell is going on?

Boris was just, just collecting teeth? 

He'd known his boss was eccentric, but not that eccentric. Kamal wonders, what these unidentified teeth might be for, or why they're there, or god forbid, where they _came from_ … but then he casts those thoughts aside, with a quick shake of his head. 

Wondering is horrifying.

He's sure it's nothing. They're probably just Premade Crowns or something. Certainly not _real_ teeth. Either way, Kamal is certain it's fine.

He's sure there's nothing wrong here. He's sure Boris isn't doing anything too crazy.

He considers if he should maybe ask Boris about it, about that, but casts the idea aside. It probably really was nothing, and if that were the case, Kamal didn't want to worry his boss about it to no benefit (and if there is something wrong, he doesn't really want to know).

Yeah, he's sure there's a perfectly reasonable explanation.

Regardless, he slams the drawer shut and locks it, shoving the keys in his pocket.

Then he turns and scurries off as fast as he can.

* * *

Dr. Habit. Kamal had laughed, when he'd seen that name splayed across the ads desperately vying for the talents of a dental assistant. It sounded silly, and whimsical and most definitely made up.

Then a few months pass with Kamal under Dr. Habit's tutelage, and he reflects, and decides it's not so stupid, after all.

It's an allegory. A description.

Dr. Boris Habit.

 _Habit_ is such a fitting name, because Boris is truly addictive. His smile tastes like sunshine and peppermint, and his laugh is deep, swaddling cotton, his touch against his skin fiery hot and _pleasing_. 

Boris is Kamal's best and worst habit, simultaneously.

Dr. Habit is crazy.

The good days are _really_ good. So good it’s like he’s hyped up on laughing gas, just so light headed and beaming. Habit shines and smiles and jokes, as warm as the sun, so endearingly silly and _kind._ He visits Kamal in between visits with patients, and they talk, long and loud and lovely.

And the bad days are really, really bad. Habit hovers like a vengeful shadow, claws piercing into Kamal’s shoulder. His words are sharp and his looks scathing, and his smile is suddenly _cruel_. He is suddenly unbelievably cruel. Kamal dreads those days, when his only reparation is to curl up in one of the operation rooms and hide behind the desk until the storm passes.

Sometimes, Habit apologizes. Sometimes he looks guilty, but can’t seem to force any words out. Sometimes, he stays agitated for hours on end, and by the time he returns to himself, to some semblance of a level headed perspective, he’s forgotten what happened, forgotten that he even hurt Kamal. He stumbles about in a fugue state, sometimes, mumbling under his breath, screaming at the top of his lungs, yanking at his hair.

Sometimes, he laughs so loudly it hurts to hear, and he smiles so wide Kamal feels sick, and his grip is so tight Kamal’s wrist bruises from the way his fingers dig into the skin. Habit always gets upset, then, and starts to apologize profusely. Falling over and over and over himself, blubbering and inconsolable.

Kamal clasps his hands, rubs his thumb over one of his long, slender fingers. Boris starts to breathe again, and Kamal mutters reassurances until he quiets down, finally. He always forgives him. He sticks always by his side.

Because the bad is bad, but the good is so good.

“Any more patients skheduled foar tuday?” Boris asks, looking over at him from his desk.

Kamal briefly scans his clipboard, and looks up with a smile, “No, Doc, last one was 20 minutes ago. Looks like we’re off scott free”

“Oh goody!” He exclaims giddily, and he snatches Kamal up into a hug as if he weighs nothing, spinning them around a few times on spindly legs, “That means we have the rest of the day together”

He shouts, with the vast enthusiasm of a small child. Kamal looks up, a little bit dizzy, and is surprised to see Boris’ cheek is pressed to his own. One of his hands has reached out to engulf Kamal's, and their hands are extended outward.

"Let us do hoaky pokey, Kamal" And then they're breaking into an impromptu dance across the tiled floor, Kamal struck utterly silent, legs dangling a few feet off the floor, as Dr. Habit swings him around.

Boris is laughing, and Kamal can't stop staring up at him, at his smile (missing upper incisor and all), hands clammy and throat dry.

It occurs to him, that he's in love.

That's why he so adamantly sticks by his side.

He refuses to leave him. He always remains at his side, that shoulder to cry on, the friend he relies on.

Until he literally can’t.

* * *

The Habitat is a vision only Habit can perceive, at first. His eyes get bright and shining, any time he talks about it, voice so filled with excitement Kamal can't help but be swept up in it.

Even though he has no idea what the Habitat really is, yet. All he's sure of, is that it's Boris' dream, and it's a big one.

They stand in front of the broken down complex, staring at a mess of broken pipes, crumbling concrete terraces, a single water tower jutting into the horizon, leaning dangerously, metal stilts warping from the weight, with a few boxes heavy in their arms. Too measly few, Kamal thinks, now that the state of the place has become clear. It’s desolate, so much like those foreclosed homes Kamal used to drive past going home (he’s wrapping his head around the fact that this is home, now, with a bit of difficulty), the ones with wooden boards hammered up to the windows, boards that were long since rotten, and had been partially yanked away so someone could crawl inside and light a trash fire. 

This complex was a trash fire. Goodness. Kamal shakes his head with a sigh, and bites the inside of his cheek.

Boris is vibrating beside him.

“It’s perfect,” Dr. Habit says thickly, as if he doesn’t see the _mess_ laid out before them.

He doesn’t see what Kamal sees. That was a revelation that took Kamal quite a while to come to, but it's a true one, and was meant quite literally. Dr. Boris Habit does not see the world the way Kamal (or anyone else) does.

Kamal wonders what the world looks like, through those gleaming orange eyes.

Pretty good, if he looks that pleased with himself.

"Um…?"

Kamal doesn’t want to burst his bubble, but he also hates the thought of him being heartbroken later. He has to make sure Habit keeps his eye on the prize, so to speak, doesn’t lose track of the reality of the situation. 

The reality is, that this place is a dump. 

“It’s going to take a fortune to get this place up and running” Kamal reminds him, “Are you sure this is, _it,_ ” He huffs, wringing his hands, boxes already discarded on the ground, “We can find another place, Boss. Somewhere more suitable… somewhere near to the city, you know... maybe less of a… fixer upper”

A few bricks fall, to punctuate his statement, a flock of birds that'd clearly been nesting in the pipes bursting out to fly over their heads. Kamal covers his head with his arms and scowls.

Boris is steadfast, of course, in that way he always gets when he’s long since made up his mind.

"Thiiss is it, Kamal" He parrots, with a vigorous shake of his head, "Cain you knot see the children, froleaking in the flowers in front of the Lounge, the adults chatting habbily in the square, the birds chirping as the sun rises in your window-"

He points at one of the many sets of windows, cut out of the facing of a crumbling apartment building near the corner of the plot.

And Kamal nods, because he can. 

He can see it… he can see himself living here, perhaps, can see himself being happy here. He can also see himself waking up with this man beside him, his face burrowed into soft auburn curls sweet as gum, Boris's long arms wrapped around his middle, and with a lovely, gap toothed smile edged by the warmth of sunrise greeting him, each and every morning. He can see Habit, purring, as he runs his fingers through his hair, chin leant up on his arm, deep voice sounding in his ear and-.

Nope. Not going down that road. Not again. Kamal face flushes, and he shakes himself out of his revery. 

"Yeah, Doc!" Kamal interrupts, before he can say anything else, and cause Kamal to spiral even farther into his nonsense yearning, "I think… I think I can see the vision"

"Wonderful! Now let us put down these boxes"

They’re going to do something meaningful, here. Something worthwhile. They’re going to help the world, Boris says, looking down at his assistant with a fond smile, and Kamal believes.

He believes with all his heart.

* * *

"Welcome to the Habitat!"

There's a small crowd before them, a hodgepodge of people, faces, united only in the fact that they'd all been miserable, in some shape or form. They gaze on, dubious.

The promise the Habitat offers seems too good to be true, to them, to the man who'd lost his child and the lady who'd fallen from stardom and the kid who'd struggled to be understood- but they're desperate enough, for any measure of respite, to try anyway.

Kamal smiles softly, from his spot beside Habit, as encouraging as he can manage. As Habit continues to orate about how wonderful the Habitat is, like a salesmen selling their pitch, Kamal locks eyes with the members of the crowd and says,

"We're going to do our best to help you" And it's a promise.

A few measly smiles, uncertain but hopeful. Kamal's stomach flips, but he isn't sure why.

Surely it's fine. It's going to be fine.

Better than fine, with luck.

* * *

Betrayal. That's what Kamal feels, burning laser hot in his chest. Dr. Boris Habit is laughing at him, cackling, as if he is some joke.

Kamal covers his mouth, lips pressed tight together.

Kamal’s shoulders hunker inwards, and he huffs loudly. "I can't do this"

The room smells strongly of laughing gas (it always does, nowadays?) ultra sweet bubblegum and discarded rusty change, and Kamal is feeling light headed, and it's all just too much. Too much. Boris is too much, right now.

He just needs to get away.

"My lily? Calla lily? Lily? Please come back! I'm sorry"

Kamal does not turn back.

* * *

Kamal has time, in droves, to reflect after his and Habit’s falling out. He can’t leave the Habitat, and he’s too hurt, upset, _afraid,_ to venture far from his bench. So, he has no shortage of time to think.

Kamal is the worst assistant imaginable, by far.

He's not a very good friend either, he's decided.

Wallus is that perfect reminder, of what happens to people when he fails to be there for them. Wallus watches him, through the hole in The Wall, single eye huge in the dark, glowing yellow and dull rimmed, his hand pressed against the inside of The Wall. Kamal presses his own hand against the outer side of The Wall, and he can feel the vibrations of Wallus's tapping, even if he can't see him. It's the restless energy of a man trapped, imprisoned in every sense if the word.

Kamal sits down on the cold cement, and can't help but think about how this was his fault. If he'd stuck by Wallus's side, or convinced him to quit, or attempted to get through to Habit before he fell right off the deep end, or done literally anything, maybe he wouldn't be here.

Guilt curls in Kamal's gut, as he considers that maybe, just maybe, they wouldn't be here, if he hadn't been so afraid.

Perhaps he should have left with Wallus, when he had a chance, quit his job, jump ship, drive up to his mother's house or something and just get away. Would they be less unhappy now?

It doesn't matter now.

Kamal is still afraid, and even though his insides churn as he gazes at Wallus, there is something comforting in being together in they're suffering. There is something comforting about sitting beside someone who understands, in his misery, even if all they do is stare at the evening sky, and wait for the gas.

So he sits beside The Wall, with (and also not with) Wallus. Sits and waits in silence, for night to fall. 

* * *

Dr. Habit had been angry. Jealous too, he supposed, though he would have been hard pressed to admit it. Doing so makes him feel small, and he hates feeling small.

Habit feels tiny now. Tiny and very, very wrong.

_Look at the Flower Child, thinking they can cheer up my Habiticians. My people. Do my job._

No one wants to say it, but the reply hangs there, in the air. _I wouldn't have had to, if you hadn't failed to_. Dr. Habit hears it, even if Flower Kid doesn't open their mouth to utter a sound, even if the child doesn't raise a finger, doesn't sign a single syllable. They don't need to. Their expression, uncomfortable and trained on the floor, says it all.

Habit already knew.

"I hnm, yeas, I could have been a better leader"

Flower Kid still stares at him. Dr. Habit swears it feels like they're staring through him, through his green outer shell into his icky, icky soul. He grimaces and looks away.

"Mmm. A better friend"

* * *

Everything is cyclical.

The whole world knows it. It's part of why violence always begets more violence, why doctors ask about family history when evaluating one's risk of lung cancer, part of why the children of a father whose a drunkard or a pickpocket are considered outcasts, layabouts, trouble makers.

People look at each other and say, he has his father's eyes, her mother's nose, they're uncle's temper, and then they almost always conclude with, 'the apple doesn't fall far from the tree'. 

Everyone's trapped at the base of the tree, too afraid to roll too far away. Too damaged to subjugate the monsters before them.

Everything's hopelessly cyclical, and everyone knows it.

That's part of why Dr. Habit already knows he's doomed.

Doomed to be cruel. Doomed to be hated.

As is the way of things.

* * *

For a time, they all looked up to him. Wallus wasn't sure when the reverence turned to fear, but it was long before he holed himself up in his wall.

Long before the whole bottom fell out.

Kamal scowls at the ground, knees hugged to his chest, back against The Wall.

"He can't do this to us" Kamal hisses, "He can't do this to everyone"

Wallus hums. He knows what he's talking about. He's talking about the forced curfew, and the PSAs, the fact that the Habitat becomes more and more of a prison with every passing day.

Saying that doesn't help. He can do this. He can and he is and he'll keep doing it. That's the one thing Kamal and Wallus can count on.

A cold draft comes their way, brushing across Kamal's face, whipping his hair into his eyes. He shivers, miserable, and wipes the hair from his face.

"He's… he's crazy!" Kamal exclaims.

Wallus laughs.

"Haven't Aye been tellin' you that all along?"

  
  


* * *

There is _before_ Flower Kid, and there is _after_ Flower Kid. And then there is in between. Life is so perfectly trisected, because the before and the after are so vastly dissimilar.

Kamal never could have dreamed that this moment would come, that perhaps Habit would be brought to his senses, without the child’s intervention. Kamal could never have done it alone.

Dr. Habit stares at him from where he stands in the doorway, lip print smeared across his cheek, mouth hanging open. Flower Kid remains standing behind him, a few teeth missing, a couple sitting in their open palm.

Kamal's eyes widen, and tears prick his eyes, because he has not seen Boris in more than a year. He throws his arms around Boris, who slumps forward, breath catching in his throat, curve of his nose pressed into his shoulder. A clawed hand touches uncertainly at his back, before wrapping hesitantly around Kamal's shoulders.

It's only been a week. 

Not nearly long enough.

He looks on, and he knows he's looking at a very broken man. Twisted and raging. He feels a small flash of sympathy, almost, because he can see Habit is lost, and confused, and reaching desperately for support (he hadn't been in his right mind. He hadn't meant it, he swears), but that knowledge does very little to erase the hurt throbbing in his chest.

Only time could do that.

So he turns away from him, and walks away.

He'd return, in time. Once he's gotten, some time.

"I'll be here for you. I don't know how I'll do it but I… I'll support you" Kamal can't help but reach out, but then he snatches his hand back, fingers trembling. Habit clasps his palm on his own before he can retreat completely, warm calloused hands engulfing his (his hands are still so warm), smile wet and trembling. He presses Kamal's hand to his cheek with a noise of desperation, leaning into the touch as if he hasn't had human contact in months, pressing into Kamal's cool fingertips as if he may disappear at any moment. 

It's so reminiscent of the old days, before the other Habiticians, before Habit's sudden bout of insanity, that some part of Kamal doesn't want to pull away, doesn't want to let it go. Dr. Habit's smiling at him, looking at him like he is the only thing that matters in the world, like he did once, and Kamal can almost fool himself into believing everything's alright.

But everything's not alright. There's still one too many teeth in Boris's mouth, and the gleam in his eye is as frightening as it'd been that first night in the pouring rain, the stench of rust in their nostrils. 

Kamal cares so much for him, (still loves him so _deeply,_ after everything he's done), but he can't do this, not like this. He can't watch him destroy himself again, ripping apart their lives and his heart like tissue paper strewn on the floor. He has to draw the line somewhere, before this emotional rollercoaster of terror takes him somewhere he doesn't want to go.

Takes him to someone he doesn't want to see.

Enough.

Kamal pulls his hand away, and Boris's face falls.

Kamal steels his gaze, and it's difficult, especially with Habit looking at him so heartbroken, dejected and rejected, but he pushes on anyway. He clenches his fists, and says with uncharacteristic resolve, "But… not now. Not until you show you're ready to devote yourself to changing"

Habit, resigned, does not argue. He nods, instead, head held low and lips pressed tightly shut.

"I will. I pro-mise you, I will"

Kamal does not answer. Instead, he unclasps the necklace from around his neck, and presses the chain into Boris's open palms. Habit gulps, looking like he'd been struck.

"I…" He looks up, bewildered, pleading.

Frightened.

Kamal turns to leave because he can't stay any longer, but can't help but stop. He turns to look at Habit, 

"You, you can give it back to me once you've gotten better" He says finally, and his voice only cracks faintly.

He has to be better (stronger), for himself, and for Habit.

He waits until he's a safe distance away before he starts to cry.

* * *

He's smiling, a really dopey little smile, and Kamal can see the gap in his teeth, and he's just really inviting, somehow, like warm sunshine's embrace. His red hair is pulled back in a messy ponytail, a few stray strands escaping the tie, his large nose the taddest bit crooked, and Kamal has to gaze upward to look at him, and he looks like a _vision_.

Kamal had been thunderstruck, from that moment onward.

"Can I see it?"

Boris sort of half turns, but doesn't really look at Kamal, distracted, attention elsewhere. "Hmm. See what?"

"Your smile. Can I see it?"

He presses his hand to his mouth, then, as if he'd forgotten Kamal could see him, hands trembling. He shakes his head and there are tears, streaming down his face, settling on the rim of his palm.

The lily falls, pot crashing, sharp ceramic slivers skidding across the tiled floor. The soil is crumbly dry beneath his fingers after so long, earthly crisp, finer than before, but his face still stings the same. He rips his hand away, tracing two fingers over his lips. 

He tastes the metallic bitterness of blood, seeping from the tooth spot in the gumline, where there is none.

"No, no, no" He says quickly, "U R, U cainnot, it is broken and ugly and you do not want to see it"

The last thing Kamal had expected was for him to break into tears. He'd been teasing him, mostly, anyway. He'd just noticed that, as much as Dr. Habit smiles, he's rarely actually seen, well, his smile, the one with teeth and such. He almost always grinned tight lipped.

If he laughs he always covered his mouth, and well, it just struck Kamal as odd. He may or may not also like the look of his smile, those rare one's he gets where Dr. Habit forgets himself for a moment, and just grins, head thrown back, bellowing with laughter, edges of his mouth peaking far back so his gaped teeth are on full display.

On those rare occasions, he truly looks happy. 

Not so miserable, like he is now.

"Doc, it's okay" Kamal says awkwardly, "You don't have to… we don't have to do this, or talk about this, or any of the above, alright?"

He wipes his tears away, because he can't stand crying, and he's awfully bad at comforting people, so he isn't sure how else to show he's there for him.

"But I just want you to know that it's pretty. You're smile, I mean. I know you don't think so, but I do. Your" Kamal takes a short breath, and gives a tiny smile of his own, "Your smile is beautiful, okay"

"You r just seaying that" Boris replies, but then he laughs, "But, thank you. For saysing it. You are very good assystant Kamaal. Very Best"

And he smiles, with teeth on display. It's very tentative and very small, but it's something.

Kamal returns it. 

He thinks they're getting somewhere. Where to, exactly, has yet to be seen, but they're absolutely going.

* * *

Kamal and Habit have so much shared history. That's a double edged sword, because that history is as tender as it is bittersweet. It's heavy, that history, weighing on Kamal. Resting on his shoulders like it wants to bury him alive.

"Sometimes, I just wish we could start over!" He says, with a reminiscent sigh, solemn with grief. "Begin anew, you know, without all that messed up stuff that happened getting in the way"

"But sometimes I'm just so angry with him, and I just-"

Kamal pauses, seems to have returned to himself. He stares at Flower Kid, looking particularly lucid.

He paws at his hair, voice shrill. "Why am I talking to a kid about this?" He shakes his head, laughing with no true mirth, "You've already been through enough without having to listen to a grown adult rant about their problems"

Flower Kid frowns a bit.

" _No, it's fine. I'm listening,"_ The child signs quickly, hand movements the smallest bit agitated, all fluttery and quick.

They're trying to reassure him.

"It's stupid. I should just move on with my life. I don't need him. I've been doing just fine on my own"

 _"You're right. You don't need him,"_ Flower Kid pauses, _"But... he might need you"_

"I don't care" Kamal hisses, "He can figure it out"

It's hollow, but Kamal says it anyway.

 _"Alone. Spiraling,"_ Is all Flower Kid replies with.

Kamal didn't have time to spend every waking moment worried about Boris. He had his own life he needed to worry about putting back together.

So, that's what he does.

* * *

Kamal is piecing his life back together, slowly but surely.

The first person he calls is Parsley.

Acquiring his phone number is particularly difficult, but Kamal eventually stumbles upon one that is current, posted on a website for a law firm halfway across the country. Kamal is immediately tipped off by the name Botch & Co. (because how common of a name is Botch?) but refrains from letting his hopes get up, just in case it's a coincidence.

Then he scrolls down, and finds a photo of none other than Parsley at the bottom of the page, and he knows this is it. He's found him.

The phone rings thrice before he picks up.

"Hello, this is Botch & Co. Parsley speaking," Comes a familiar voice, professional, like an answering machine, almost. Kamal wonders if Parsley has anyone to take calls for him, and if so, why the heck is he answering business calls on what is clearly his personal cell phone?

"Hey"

He gasps in recognition. "Oh, Kamal? It's been ages since we last talked" Kamal can hear his smile through the receiver, "You know, in light of the whole, yeah… Something I can do for you?"

Kamal hums casually, light hearted, as if this whole thing hadn’t been premeditated and perfectly planned. This was just a spur of the moment urge to reach out, and Parsley didn’t need to think anything to the contrary.

"I'm just catching up with everyone from the Habitat, seeing how everyone's doing. How have you been lately?"

There's the sound of tires screeching, in the background, Parsley huffs under his breath, and switches his phone to the other hand, "I've been." He laughs, "But really, I've been fine. I'm absolutely swamped with work at the Firm, so not much time to be worried. Gotta new apartment up in San Fran. Real nice and modern. Dad's been staying with me for the last couple months"

"And that's-"

"Been surprisingly pleasant, actually... He's been a lot less uh, overbearing, lately, probably cause he's got his own thing going on, now. He's been hanging with that uh, that Trencil guy. So he doesn't have as much time to focus on me. I think... he's always been trying to live vicariously through me, you know?"

"Absolutely. I can imagine"

"I should probably call up that Trencil guy, tell him how much of a life saver he is. Hmm... you know, now that he's gotten Pops off my case, maybe he can teach him to cook" Parsley exhales into the mic, having wound down from his miniature rant, "But uh, that's enough about me. How are you doing, Kamal? And give it to me straight"

Kamal smiles.

"Pretty good, actually"

The next person he reaches out to is Flower Kid. In hindsight, he should have contacted them first, but he'd been hesitant. He was so sure the last thing the kid possibly wanted was a reminder of the Habitat, of the trauma, and as much as Kamal hated the thought, he was a part of that. There's a saying that fits so perfectly here: You can take the people out of the Habitat, but you can't take the Habitician out of the people. He was pretty sure Tiff was the one to say that.

It'd been an argument for why they had to stick together, but it brings up another issue just as terse. They're all still Habiticians, through and though, and they always will be, no matter how far away they travel. No matter how far they stray.

They will still always be broken, broken little figurines cast from the music box.

That disturbed Kamal to no end, in the beginning, in those first few weeks immediately following the Big Event. Now, now he's sort of just accepted it.

Flower Kid hadn’t gone far. Kamal finds them in their parent's shop, located only a few miles from the (former) Habitat, tending to some peonies with green water can clutched in their fist. They smile as soon as they see Kamal, and drop the water can on the floor so they can sign, all excited and fluttering.

_"You made it! Far ways from home, aren't we?"_

"No, wasn't a far drive at all"

They nod.

 _"How's life been treating you?"_ The teen asks, and under normal circumstances, Kamal would dread that question. Usually, he had to lie.

"I've been… doing okay, considering everything that's happened" He offers a tattered little smile, "Kind of struggling"

And Flower Kid just nods, taking it at face value. They don't question it, or judge him. They already know. They already _understand_.

They were there along with him, after all. His therapist couldn't claim that. Couldn't claim to understand what'd he'd been through, the way a fellow Habitician would.

Flower Kid _understands,_ and well, that's not a bad thing. Kamal's thankful for it, actually.

* * *

Kamal is happy. He hasn't been that in a long time, but he can say with confidence that he is now. Or at least he's getting there. He's on the road to recovery.

"Need anything from the store?" He asks Flower Kid, who's taken residence on his couch for the weekend. They're parents were out of town, and in some particularly fortunate twist of fate, they'd entrusted Kamal to care for them. Well, apparently Flower Kid had argued the point, but still… the kid had wanted him to look out for them. Kamal's heart swells with affection at the thought.

"I'm stopping at that new flower shop across town on the way back. Sure you don't want to ride along?"

Flower almost never passed up the chance for a good ol' car ride. Still, the child shakes their head.

 _"Not with my allergies,"_ They sign, _"Go on without me. I'm busy with my knitting anyway"_

They extend the half finished set of mittens over their head, strands of pink and yellow yarn sticking out every which way, as evidence. 

Kamal nods, snatching his keys off the table beside the door.

"Well, alright. Call me if anything happens, and don't unlock the door for anything. I'll be back in a couple hours"

Flower Kid grins, a particularly mischievous grin in hindsight, and waves goodbye.

Kamal shuts and locks the door behind him.

The flower shop is small and quaint.

The sign out front is misspelled, but it manages to be endearing instead of grating. The little bell attached at the door sounds cheerfully as Kamal steps in. He takes in the sights and the smells, gazing with amazement at all the flowers, bright and fragrant, live plants hanging from the ceiling and lining the walls, bouquets presnipped, laid out in a display case at the counter.

There isn't a single sign of human life, within the forest of foliage, beside a single employee near to the back. He’s busy tending to a Calla Lily.

“A moment, pleasb, and I vill be right with-” Kamal is shocked when he realizes the huge man standing in the middle of the flower shop with dirt brushed coveralls on is none other than Boris Habit. 

He hadn't expected to run into him (ever) again.

"Oh, hey" He swallows, "hey Doc. How's it been hanging"

"Eye've ben doing better" Habit smiles, and it doesn't quite reach his ears, but his teeth are on full display.

That's… certainly something.

  
  


* * *

Kamal and Dr. Habit have been spending more time together. Strictly as acquaintances, because Kamal did not want to get into the whole mess of anything even close to intimate, with Boris. Disappointed as he appeared, the former dentist seemed to understand. It was too soon, too late, too much, and not the time. The trust between them was still too fragile, loose at the seams, and Kamal was still stumbling to find his own way, out in the real world…

Kamal hadn't wanted to so much as talk to Habit, for quite a long while.

But after the flower shop, Habit had emailed Kamal, and… he sounded different. A bit more sober, maybe. Apologetic, too.

Kamal responds, despite his better judgement, because as intelligent as he is, he's still a total heartthrob, and seeing that message, with ' _from your hopefully still frend, Boris Habit_ ' typed as the heading, yanks at his heartstrings and reminds him of just how much me misses talking to Boris. Just talking, having those silly, vapid conversations they always used to, about everything and nothing.

Kamal makes quick work of typing a response. It's noncommittal and hedging. Along the lines of 'I missed you, but not too much' and 'We should talk, but only if you want to' and 'I've been doing better,' but he doesn't give any real details. Makes no promises.

Kamal wants to help, he does, but he's not sure Boris wants it. He doesn't want to be pushy. He also doesn't want to put out the effort for someone who may be, ultimately, unwilling to return it.

Boris clearly hadn't expected Kamal to read, much less respond to, his email. Kamal gets a response ten minutes later, nearly the opposite of his own, over the top and forcefully cheerful and so excited. It is desperate. Kamal can taste the desperation through the computer screen. It forces a watery smile out of him, and he shakes his head. That big, silly lug.

Then Boris is emailing him every week. And reading them is actually the highlight of Kamal's day?

After emailing comes calling, and then actually hanging out for about an hour at a time, usually at the coffee shop on Wednesdays, after Habit finishes up his therapy session and Kamal gets off of work.

It just evolves from there.

"Which would U pick? Ise Cream or Hampburgers" Habit asks, grinning wide, as he 'escorts' Kamal from the cafe to his car.

"Hamburgers, obviously" Kamal replies with a shake of his head. Need he even ask? Come on.

Kamal didn't have much of a sweet tooth.

"Don't be ridiculous, my Cal-" He coughs into his hand, "Kamal. Ise Cream is clearly superior"

Kamal had failed to notice when his arm had wrapped around Habit's forearm, or when clawed fingertips had pressed ever so faintly into his side, Boris' huge palm hovering just over the small of Kamal's back. How long had that…?

When had that happened? Had they been standing so close this entire time?

Kamal sidesteps a bit to the left. Habit doesn't seem to notice, but he does pause in the middle of whatever he was saying. So maybe he did? He doesn't say a word about it, either way.

They arrive at Kamal's car, and part ways. It's painful, in all the worst ways, and Kamal hunkers before the steering wheel and promptly drives away.

When Kamal gets home, Flower Kid is there, along with Tim Tam and Trevor. Kamal doesn't question it, since Flower Kid is at his house nearly as often as their own.

 _"What's up?"_ Flower Kid signs, looking up briefly from their video game. Then they see Kamal's current state, and chuckle noiselessly, _"Habit?"_ They ask, knowingly.

Kamal just huffs a breath through his nose and nods.

* * *

It's getting better.

Sometimes, it still feels like they are taking two steps back for every one step forward. Sometimes Habit drinks six too many beers and Kamal has to snatch the key from him. Sometimes he starts yanking his hair out. Sometimes, he starts crying, and no one knows what is up or down or sideways.

Sometimes, Kamal can't bring himself to get up. Sometimes, he can't get himself to sleep. Sometimes, he wakes up screaming and the only recourse he knows is to go to the bathroom and grab his toothbrush and scrape until his gums bleed.

Boris grabs his hand then, pulls them to his chest and holds them there until Kamal shouts himself dry.

There are slip ups, sometimes, but that was alright.

No one ever said recovery was linear. 

Sometimes it branched off and looped around, and plunged downward, but as long as they got back on the right path, it was alright.

That was alright.

They'll be alright. That's clear now.

* * *

Habit has a garden. It is absolutely beautiful, and Kamal loves it. His best days are spent tending to the perennials, gloved hands covered in rich, dark soil, the sun baking against his back. He pulls his broad brimmed hat further over his eyes, trims at the browning edges of the greenery, and wipes his forehead with the back of his hand.

Habit pulls weeds further in the garden, grinning wide, passionate in that way Kamal only saw him get when he got behind the handle end of the extraction forceps. Only, that _crazed_ , frantic edge is gone. He is simply content.

They are content. It's nice.

Once they are done out in the garden, they pile into Boris' living room, sucking up the glorious cool air pumped out by the AC, swirling glasses of lemonade made fresh the night before. Kamal goes back to the kitchen to grab some more ice, and Habit, leaned up on the kitchen counter and lost in thought, perks up at the sight of him.

"Doing okay, Boris?" Kamal asks, plopping a few cubes from the ice tray in his drink.

"Oh, yes. Those weeds were a hasssle"

Kamal gazes out the window and scowls.

"I see some more" He isn't sure if he actually does or not, he's far enough away from the flowerbeds, but any excuse is a good enough excuse to head back out.

"Then they muost be vanquashed" Boris exclaims, with a wide grin. And they head back out.

It's late evening, when they finally find themselves back in the house, standing in the kitchen together, cooking dinner. Habit stares over Kamal's shoulder at the ingredients list, breath faintly fluttering Kamal's hair.

It's comfortable and domestic, and nice. Kamal says so aloud. Habit laughs, fond and content, and nods. 

There's a weight at Kamal's side then, wrapped around his back. Habit presses his hands to Kamal's hips, tender in a way that makes the smaller man breathless, and tucks his chin into the curve of his neck.

It's sudden, in that way the sting of a rubber band is once you've spent a while pulling it taut. Not too sudden, because it'd been a long time coming, but sudden in that sense that Kamal never could have expected that now would be the moment the dam broke, so to speak.

It's been a long time, since Kamal's been held like this. A long time since Habit held him, like this. So long, since they've been like this... happy and together (sometimes happy, sometimes together, never both).

Habit makes a little noise in his throat, pressing his face into Kamal's neck, and inhales deeply, squeezing ever closer like a man in withdrawal. 

"I've missed you so much, my… my Lily"

He looks up, eyes wide and a little nervous.

"May I, may I call you that, Kamal?"

After he gets over the initial shock of the nickname, because god, no one's called him that in ages, he carefully considers and decides that, yeah, he's okay with that. 

He's okay with this.

"Yes. And... I missed you too, big guy" Kamal pauses.

"Are you still wearing those gloves?"

"Yeas"

Kamal lightly pushes his hand away, and scowls at the dirt he’d left behind on his white, polka dot shirt.

“Really, Boris? Look at what you did”

He just chuckles, head thrown back, and brushes his fingers over Kamal’s cheek, leaving streaks of mud. Kamal purses his lips, a dangerous fire dancing in his eyes.

“You’re going to pay for that”

"You'll have to catch me first!"

Kamal chases Boris through the house, and as ticked as he is, it's the happiest he's been in a long time.

**Author's Note:**

> Habit's dialogue was horrendously difficult to formulate. I still don't like that part, but I was like eh, whatever, been working on this ten days, I quit.


End file.
